domingo, 13 de novembro de 2016

Every people has borne the sacred
burden of the Divine in its deepest heart. How strange, with this wondrous
heritage, that we should ever feel "widowed of the presence of the
gods," as though the link with our divine source had become frayed, no
longer assured. We are not the first civilization to feel lost and bewildered,
nor will we be the last, but this does not mean there is no remedy. Help has
always been within our grasp: to ally our whole being with the building
energies of the universe and to refuse to strengthen by default — certainly never
by design — the destructive forces that are ever alert to attack the irresolute
soul. Still, we must persevere, for once we make the choice, all the
"devils" in the underworld of our nature will seemingly be let loose
to test the integrity of our resolve. The more in earnest we are, the more
subtle and persistent the resistance — not instigated by others, but by our own
higher self.

There is nothing mysterious about
this. Probably everyone has had the experience that when we determine to alter
our habitual ways of thinking, everything and everybody appear to conspire
against us. This is inevitable, for intensity of aspiration challenges the gods
who are "jealous" of us humans who venture unprepared into their
domain. Only those who have become near to godlike may enter. And since the
gods are in a profound sense ourselves, the response to our importunate demands
may be a release upon us of an avalanche of unexpended karma from past lives.
This could be shattering to the personal self, but not to the part of us that knows
deep within that we have longed to be tested to the limit of our endurance.

William Q. Judge uses the cryptic
phrase "karmic stamina" in connection with aspirants who may find
themselves momentarily in "a psychic whirl, or a vortex of occultism"
into which others also may be drawn, and where the "germs for good or ill
ripen with activity." (Letters That Have Helped Me 1:20-1) The
outcome will depend not only on our constancy of will and selflessness of
motive, but also upon our reserve of moral and spiritual endurance, our inbuilt
stamina. The word stamina — from the Latin for "warp, thread, fiber"
— is fitting here, for the warp of lengthwise threads on a loom is usually of
stouter twist than the weft, as it is the foundation on which the cross threads
are woven. The daily encounters and interactions with others and the
impingements of events upon us are all karma: the warp represents the
outflowing of past experience, while our reactions, being of our choosing, are
the weft carried by the shuttle of the soul as we weave our present and future
on the warp of the past.

All is not hardship and trial.
Our inner god may be a stern taskmaster, but it is infinitely just and
therefore infinitely compassionate. To be sure, potency of aspiration germinates
whatever seeds of inharmony we have sown, but equally does it quicken the seeds
of nobility in the character so that we are inwardly sustained and encouraged.
In truth, it may shed a flood of light upon our path. Such a resolve finds
resonance in our inmost self, and as we return life after life it leads us on
and on, to take up the charge anew. Every day, every year, every lifetime, we
infuse the ancient resolve with fresh vigor. Katherine Tingley speaks
eloquently to this in her Theosophy: The Path of the Mystic:

A vow is an action rising like a star high above
the level of the common deeds of life. It is a witness that the outer man has
at that moment realized its union with the inner, and the purpose of its
existence, . . .

At that moment the radiant path of light is seen
with the eye of pure vision, the disciple is reborn, the old life is left
behind, he enters a new way. For a moment he feels the touch of a guiding hand
ever stretched out to him from the inner chamber. For a moment his ear catches
the harmonies of the soul.

All this and more is the experience of those who
make this vow with their whole hearts, and as they constantly renew it, and
constantly renew their endeavor, the harmonies come again and again, and the
clear path is once more beheld.

. . . Each effort carves the path of the
next, and in no long time one single moment's silence will bring forth to the
disciple's aid the strength of his soul. — pp. 53-4

Such a vow is a knocking at the
door of our higher self. If the knock is genuine, the illumination and strength
that pour into us can become a transforming influence that may help us to
intuit the higher self's intent for our ordinary self. When the motive to serve
humanity is fortified by will, our life is taken in hand by our higher self,
and we find we are led into situations that test us to the core so that we may
prove our worth and the depth of our aspiration — not for self-benefit, but
that we may bring light and inspiration to others.

The higher self is our real
teacher, our inner buddha. This is a time-honored truth: it places
responsibility for growth, for inner advancement, squarely on ourself. We have
no one but ourself to blame for our fumbles, no one on whom to shift our
burdens. We are our own awakener, our own savior, for we are the steps
we must travel and the truth we so long to find. Yet few of us feel adequate to
fulfill the demands of our dharma, or self-disciplined enough to meet with
equanimity the impact of daily karma. Trust is the key: to trust karma is to
trust ourselves and to trust that we have the inner resources to handle
whatever befalls. Having made the choice to live mindfully, there can be no
turning back. We are not required, however, to take more than one step at a
time; this is our protection, for by meeting life's challenges one day at a
time we gather strength and sufficient wisdom for the daily need.

Once we grasp the fact that we
are the path before us, never again will we know that aching loneliness of
despair, for we shall have come in touch, if ever so fleetingly, with our
light-source. Should periods of despondency return, they need not take firm
hold, for a part of us, having entered into companionship with our higher self,
remains en rapport with the larger fraternity of the spirit that touches every
aspirant on the path. In proportion as we allow our buddha-nature to illumine
our ordinary self will the Tathagata-light, the Christos-sun, irradiate our
being and the path ahead. Since we are one humanity, the lighted path of
a single individual makes the path of all others that much clearer.

It is a truism that no one can
live always on the heights. We are obliged to return to the valleys of daily
experience where we still have lessons to learn. But the panorama seen from the
heights, short-lived as it may have been, is our rod and staff. It takes
courage to allow our higher self to lead us into those circumstances that will
bring to fruition old karmic causes whose effects on ourselves and on others
must now be met. However, once handled, they will be done with. If at times
everything seems at cross-purposes, and every effort we make is countered by
opposition, this is to be expected.

The choice we made to pursue the
compassionate way is by its very nature and goal an upstream endeavor. It is
not a simple thing to go against the current; it demands courage to persist
year in and year out along a course that, even if we know deep down is the true
path for us, may at times appear quite the contrary to our personal self. Yet
when we reflect on it, we are warmed and strengthened by an inner affirmation
that we couldn't have asked for a more magnificent opportunity. To be allowed
by karma to aid, in however minor a degree, in the compassionate order of the
universe: this is to be given a boon that the soul over many lifetimes has
silently yearned for.

We learn early that every
aspiration must be sustained by self-discipline. Today people are stretching
their souls, longing to rise above their ordinary little selves and glimpse a
vision of what is beyond and within. Many of us, however, are so filled with
our own ideas of what life is all about that we are like the student who came
to the Zen monk seeking knowledge. "Teach me, Roshi, what Zen is."
The Zen master invited him to tea. He started pouring tea into the teacup, and
he poured and poured and poured until the student could stand it no longer and
almost shouted: "But the cup is full. Can't you see?" The Roshi
quietly said: "That is what your mind is like. You are so filled with your
own ideas and opinions that there is no room for even one drop of wisdom. Empty
yourself, empty your mind of all your preconceptions, empty your heart and your
soul of all unbecoming thoughts and feelings, and you will be filled to
abundance."

All of us know what is unworthy
of ourselves. Striving to gentle the untamed propensities in our character is a
type of purgation, a purification we can go through every day. This is what
Paul meant when he said to the people of Corinth, "I die daily" — day
after day he sought to be "reborn" interiorly. This is the
"daily initiation," of which W. Q. Judge spoke — life itself, with
its manifold joys and sorrows. Both have their temptations and trials, good
fortune so called being often more difficult to handle than are the day-by-day
frustrations and disappointments. The constant demand upon us to choose between
the greater and the less, the selfless and the self-centered, brings us face to
face with ourselves.

It is a matter of getting back to
first principles: we start from within, from our central self. What is
our motive? We tend to think of initiation as far removed from everyday
happenings, but every time we conquer a weakness, every time we have the
courage to see ourselves as we are, we undergo the testing by our higher self
of our lesser self; we are proving the mettle of our character. "Fire
tests gold, adversity proves strong souls" wrote Seneca, 1st-century AD
Roman statesman and philosopher. (Moral Essays, "On
Providence," 5, 9) Any form of intense suffering, particularly when self-caused
— through weakness of will, emotional instability, or being caught in a vortex
of thought beneath our private inner standard — may become an initiatory
experience. The word initiation means "beginning," the
conscious turning of a new leaf in our Book of Life. To have penetrated the
darkness of our individual hell and come up into the light of our radiant self,
able to meet its demands, is a kind of initiation.

When we inwardly take a stand, we
are forearmed for whatever comes; if we avoid doing so, when faced with really
severe challenges we are unprepared to act responsibly. Using the wheel as a
metaphor: by living in thought and aspiration as close as we can to the hub of
our being, the turning wheel of karma will not crush us; but if we live on the
rim or circumference of our lives, we are at risk of being ground down under
the karmic wheel. This can and does happen more than is necessary; and it's a
cruel thing to witness — and to experience. Nevertheless, we learn invaluable
lessons in humility and compassion: not only do we gain immeasurably, but
hopefully through it all we become sufficiently sensitized to help others see
that if they ascend the radius of their being toward the hub of themselves,
they will find guidance, strength, and a light upon their path. One of our
noblest opportunities is to give confidence to our fellow humans that, no
matter how fragile we may be or think we are, all of us have sufficient power
to live our lives in an honorable, thoughtful, and self-disciplined way. We
must allow our higher self to take charge of our life's destiny. Is there any
greater gift one can offer than assuring another he has what it takes to handle
his karma, with head high, regardless of how many times he may be knocked down?
We are not alone in our struggles. Everyone has some cross to bear, some
weakness of character to overcome; just so everyone has his or her strengths to
build on. Simply put: if we have the fortitude to "hang in there" no
matter how often we stumble or how far we fall, there is no failure, only
triumph.